


Around the Moon

by darcymariaphoster



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A bit of humour, AU, Drama, Fluff, High School, John Plays Rugby, John seems unable to make human friends now, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Teenlock, Werewolf!Sherlock, a bit of mystery, because fluff is a requirement, but he's already dead so does it still count?, ghost!Greg, mild violence concerning Greg's death, parentlock at the very end if you squint and tilt your head, the character death is Greg, vampire!Molly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:57:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2506943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darcymariaphoster/pseuds/darcymariaphoster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's starting to think that maybe he should be more concerned with the fact that he seems to be unable to make human friends...</p><p>Wrote this as an art exchange for my friend, Keroanne, under a bit of a time limit. Main pairing is Johnlock, though it kind of became John and Greg-centric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Keroanne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keroanne/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or characters thereof.
> 
> ~
> 
> Quick cheat here that's kind of important:
> 
> John's mom is named Elizabeth; she was born in 1968; was 16 in 1984; currently 46  
> John's dad was born in 1967; was 17 in 1984; currently would be 47; deceased  
> Harriet Watson was born in 1991; currently 23  
> John Watson was born in 1998; currently 16  
> Greg Lestrade was born in 1967 and would be 47; deceased

He’s dreaming again. And he tells himself so. But it doesn’t make it any less real.

John’s standing in his backyard, the one of his childhood where the grass blends into the woods. He’s close to the treeline, talking to a very small and very strange boy. The boy is pale with a mane of unkempt dark hair and vivid eyes that change in the dream. They start blue, shimmering and almost transparent. But as the dream progresses, they turn a bright yellow, glowing in the moonlight. He has a very scared expression on his face and he’s crying. “Don’t leave me behind,” the boy whimpers, shuffling his feet as if longing to step forward. “Please. I know everyone does but you’re special!”

“Why?” John asks, looking at his boots and then back up at the boy. “Why do they leave you?” He shivers from the chilly breeze.

The boy stares at him and sniffs. “I don’t know… I must do something wrong…”

John frowns deeply and straightens up. “You’re my best friend. I promise I won’t leave you behind. Ever. Just because you’re different, doesn’t mean you have to be alone!”

Yellow eyes peer up at him but the boy can no longer be seen in the overwhelming darkness. An eerie silence has fallen over the area and John nervously stares around, calling a name he can no longer remember. The growling that suddenly permeates the air startles him awake and he looks around his very dark room warily.

It’s been the same dream every night for over a week now. He’s tired of it. He’s tired in general, really, but that’s just the reason why. He throws the covers off himself and lays there, staring at the ceiling. After several silent minutes to himself, Greg, the neighborhood’s friendly ghost, wanders into his room with a yawn.

“Bit early for you, isn’t it, John?” he asks with a smile. Gregory Lestrade is seventeen but he’s been around since 1984 after he was hit by a car on his way home from a party one night. He swears up and down that it was murder and his ex had been behind the wheel. But since his case was filed under “accidental”, he can’t leave. Or rather, he _won’t_ leave. Since John is partial to all the strange creatures and phenomena of the world, Greg’s taken a particular liking to him. “Pesky nightmares again, eh?” He sits on the side of the bed.

John rubs his eyes and groans. “It’s four in the morning. Do you really consider that to be an appropriate time to be in my bedroom?”

Greg laughs, like he’s just heard the best joke all year. “Don’t be ridiculous! I can’t be inappropriate anymore. And even if I could, you’re not really my type. No offense -- you’re just not… Well, you’re not a girl.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” John growls, blushing faintly. “What if I had been asleep?”

Greg shrugs, still grinning goofily. “I wouldn’t have bothered you, of course. Really; what kind of guy do you take me for?” When the blond doesn’t answer, he decides to continue on; “Dreaming of the boy again? You know, it’s probably telling you something. I was always told to pay attention to dreams if you have the same one more than once.” Greg rarely talks about family or friends unless he’s feeling rather self-destructive. He often cleverly dances around trigger words in such a way that John’s not sure he even thinks about it anymore.

John sighs and sits up. “I shouldn’t have told you. The whole thing is just _silly_.”

“I don’t think it’s silly…” Greg remarks seriously, watching the other cautiously. “It’s bugging you. Maybe you really _did_ know the kid. What if something traumatic happened that night and that’s all you can remember now?”

“Okay, sure,” John snaps, getting irritated. “Let’s humour this idea for a moment. Say it’s true; why would the memory come back _now_? Nothing’s changed. Don’t I need a trigger or something?”

Again, Greg shrugs. “I’m not a psychiatrist, John. It’s just an idea. But, along those trigger thoughts, what if it’s subtle? Something only your subconscious would remember while your main conscious doesn’t even register it?”

“You’re getting out of hand,” John warns and Greg raises his hands. “In any case, what brought you to my room so bloody early?”

Greg blinks slowly, as if trying to recall the reason, and then absolutely beams. “I remembered something.” John sits straighter, feeling the importance of this radiating off the spirit sitting in front of him. Once every so often, Greg will come to him and tell him something of his life and he’ll write it down for him. As time goes on, Greg frets about forgetting things -- even small things -- of his life and it scares him because he feels less real without his memories. “The month before I died, my mum bought me a motorcycle. It was red.”

John immediately flicks on his lamp and grabs from his nearby bag the notebook he’s appropriately titled “Memories” and a pen. He flips to the page he’s been working on and adds this fact. “Did you ever ride it?” He poises the pen over the paper and looks up.

Greg scrunches his nose and then smiles widely. “Yeah, every day. I rode it to school and work and home.” John scribbles this down. “Thanks, John… I really appreciate you doing this for me…”

Setting the notebook and pen down, John smiles gently at Greg. “I really don’t mind. You led a rather interesting life. Maybe one day, I’ll write this out properly -- ending with your correct death -- and publish it. If that’s alright with you, of course?”

A dreamy look passes over Greg’s face. “Everyone would know what really happened…” He leans excitedly forward. “Do it, John! I’ll help. Just do it!”

John laughs quietly at the expression on his face. “Alright, alright. For now, get out. I might as well get ready for school now that I’m awake.” Cackling maniacally, Greg stands and floats out of his room at an alarming speed. He hears his cat, Butterscotch, hiss in surprise and tries not to laugh too loud as he climbs from his bed.

 

XxX

 

Greg accompanies him on his walk to school later that morning but they don’t talk; he’s seemed to have fallen into a rather melancholy mood since they last spoke. John normally doesn’t converse with him much in public anyway, lest he seem crazy. At the school gates, Greg waves pathetically and wordlessly drifts off. John’s glad he thought to stash the memories notebook in his backpack, just in case, because Greg sometimes gets destructive when in these moods. With a frown, John wanders into the building and heads to his locker to swap books before his first period. He’s completely anticipating a very average, and very boring, Monday.

And, for the first two periods, it is. He makes it through his biology and maths classes still relatively awake and ready for history. Molly, his vampiric friend, meets up with him halfway to class.

Now, John may wonder at the amount of non-human friends he’s seemed to have made, except that, last year, Molly was not a vampire. They’ve been friends since primary school and she’s been human every day until one last summer. She’d gone to visit family in Romania and had come home with fangs. She can’t remember what happened and she promises constantly that she’ll never hurt John. He really couldn't care less because she’s still so very _Molly_ , just without the beating heart. So they pretend that she’s not a vampire and continue to be very good friends.

“Did you finish the book?” she asks him, referring to their assigned literature novel. John shakes his head and she sighs dejectedly. “But it’s so good… I finished it last Wednesday and I’ve been _dying_ to talk about it with someone… The horrible part of never sleeping: just too much time on your hands.”

John vaguely wonders if Greg ever has this problem. “Yes, well, we can’t all have the benefit of not needing sleep.” She huffs sadly. “I’d probably have it finished by now if it weren’t for rugby practice. I’m on the last chapter, though.”

“I can tell you how it ends,” she offers as they walk into their history classroom.

“Yes, you could,” he agrees, taking a seat in the second to last row. “But then I wouldn’t be able to talk to you about my opinions or thoughts on the book as a whole because I’d be biased.”

Molly frowns slightly, sitting next to him and crossing her legs daintily. “Then you’d better hurry. I’m _dying_ , John.” He snorts and she gives in, giggling.

“There _will_ come a day, Molly, when that joke isn’t funny,” John informs her teasingly.

“But it’s not yet that day,” she replies happily. He rolls his eyes.

The bell rings and the substitute teacher stands in the front of the room, slowly catching everyone’s attention as she starts the roll-call. She doesn’t get very far, though, before a tall, lanky boy wanders calmly into the room. He’s pale with dark hair and a bored expression on his face. “Excuse me,” he drawls in a deep, confident voice. The substitute looks up at him, obviously startled. “I’m sorry for my tardiness. I’m new to the school and I had some trouble finding the classroom.”

John studies him curiously, feeling that he somehow _knows_ this boy. He’s standing with perfect posture, his nose turned up every so slightly as if he wholly believes he’s better than everyone else in the room. He’s wearing slacks and a purple button-down that looks better on him than it probably should. Over all he gives off a very “I am far more important than you” vibe that John’s not sure he really appreciates. He glances at Molly to get her thoughts and notices that she’s rigid and looks uncomfortable. “What’s wrong?” he whispers but she shakes her head.

“That’s quite alright,” the teacher finally says, as if remembering she has a voice, and draws John’s attention back to the front of the room. “What’s your name?” She turns back to the list of names, a faint blush on her cheeks. She’s young but he still finds it not quite appropriate.

“Sherlock Holmes,” the boy answers dutifully, pursing his lips.

She scans the list and ends up writing in his name at the bottom of the second sheet. “Go ahead and sit anywhere,” she tells him, smiling.

He glances around the room and spots the empty seat next to John. With a slight twitch of his lips, he glides over and sits down, setting his bag on the ground beside his feet. He folds his hands together on the desk and listens with rapt attention to the roll-call, as if it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever heard. After John’s name is called, she turns and writes “Ms. Shelby” on the board while Sherlock shifts his attention to the blond. For the first quarter of the lecture on the beginnings of the industrial revolution in England, he manages to ignore him. And he’s quite proud of this, even as he finally turns to glare at the new student. “Can I help you?” he hisses impatiently.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock replies coolly. “Am I somehow bothering you?” When John can’t quite form an answer, he smiles triumphantly and looks back at the board.

Feeling annoyed, John turns back to the board as well and pulls out a notebook and a pen from his bag so he can take notes. Near the end of period, Ms. Shelby turns to the class, picking up a stack of packets from the teacher’s desk. “You’re teacher left me instructions to get you started on a group project. She wants you to compare what the industrial revolution was about to modern steampunk ideas.” She passes out the packets and then goes back to the desk to snag a paper that she stares at as she says, “You have assigned groups so here we go…”

John listens carefully, hoping to be working with his friend. But Molly is grouped with a girl named Bailey and her crush, Jim. He’s a bit miffed when he’s told he’s supposed to work with someone who never shows up. Sherlock is tacked onto his group, which makes him feel a little better; hopefully he won’t be doing the whole project alone. He sighs and turns to his partner, who is staring at him with vividly blue eyes that momentarily transfix him into silence. Thankfully, the bell rings and Sherlock inquires, “Should I find you at lunch to discuss the project?”

“Well, uh,” John mumbles, blinking rapidly to get his mind back into gear. “I have second lunch.”

“Oh,” Sherlock replies, frowning. “I have first. That won’t work…” He furrows his brow, thinking.

John puts the packet into his notebook and shoves the whole thing into his bag. “Let’s just meet in the library after school. We can divide this up and pick days to meet. Sound okay?” He looks up and Sherlock nods. “I’m John Watson, by the way.” He sticks out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Sherlock hesitates and then shakes it. “Sherlock Holmes. It’s…” He mumbles the next part but John’s sure he hears, “Good to see you again…” Before he can ask, Sherlock stands abruptly, gathers his things, and leaves the classroom.

John sits there a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. But after a minute of being unable to do so, he’s grateful that Molly decides to intervene and remind him that he still has another class before lunch.

 

XxX

 

He meets up with Molly again at lunch. While he wants to ask her about her reaction to the new student, she seems to be pointedly avoiding it. “How’s Greg doing?” she asks as they sit on the bench under the stairs. She’s only seen the ghost a handful of times because Greg thinks she’s “too cute to be around” and will conveniently disappear whenever she visits.

He shrugs, munching on the grapes he’d brought from home. “Moody. He remembered that his mum bought him a red motorcycle a month before he died and he used to ride it everywhere.”

“I’m glad to hear he remembered something like that,” Molly says, smiling widely. “I mean, it must have been a big things when he first got it!”

“Probably,” John agrees with a slow nod. “But I think mentioning his mum put him in a foul mood; he didn’t say a word to me on the way to school later.”

She frowns, stirring her pasta. “It must be hard… Never even getting to say goodbye to your family before you’re just... _gone_. And now to be stuck here… I think I’d go crazy…”

He looks at her consideringly and hesitantly asks, “What are _you_ going to do?”

Molly shrugs, tucking some stray hair behind her ear. “I’m not sure yet… Do you think I could just tell my parents and maybe they’ll help me?”

“I have no clue,” John answers honestly. To lighten things up, he adds, “I think rulebooks and a suggestion guide should be handed to every new vampire. It’d uncomplicate everything.” She laughs and agrees. Smiling, he changes the subject. “You coming to my game Friday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she replies cheerfully. “How many left in the season?”

“Seven and then the big game, assuming we qualify,” he answers, deflating slightly. “I’m not sure we will… We have to win six more to qualify, since we had such a rough start this year…”

Molly snorts, rolling her eyes. “You guys just needed to learn how to work together. It’s always hard when the seniors leave. You’ll be leaving next year and they’ll be lucky if they find a back _half_ as good as you.”

John smiles shyly. “You give me _way_ too much credit, Molly…”

“You just need to stop being so modest,” she says, nudging him with her elbow.

“As soon as you take credit for that anatomy mural in Mr. McCarthy’s room,” he responds easily and she tries to hide behind  her hair. “Thought not.” He grins.

 

XxX

 

John heads to the library after his literature class, looking through the project packet. He’s not thrilled with some of the options but a few look plausible. He glances around the library as he walks in; not seeing Sherlock, he goes to find a secluded corner to start brainstorming. Sitting down by the nonfiction section, he pulls his history notebook out and a pen. After a few minutes of scratching out ideas, Sherlock drops his bag on the table. “I apologise for being late,” he says as John looks up. “My maths teacher wanted to give me a placement quiz.” He digs around in his backpack for the packet and some paper. “May I see what you have so far?”

“Yeah, sure,” he answers, sliding his notebook across the table as Sherlock sits down. He watches the dark-haired boy closely while he reads and then, quite suddenly, blurts, “Have we met before?”

Slowly, Sherlock looks up at him. For a moment, it doesn’t seem as if he’ll answer. Finally, though, he replies, “No… I don’t think so… Unless you count history class?”

“I don’t,” John says, not amused. “But you _did_ say something weird before you left class. About how it’s good to see me again?”

Surprise flashes briefly across his face before the bored expression takes over again and he stares at him with his hauntingly familiar blue eyes. “I’m quite sure I have no idea what you’re talking about… Maybe you imagined me saying it.” John’s positive he hadn’t but realizes that Sherlock isn’t going to budge. Reluctantly, he decides to drop it and instead asks for opinions on his ideas. “I like the idea of recreating two inventions, one from the actual era and one inspired by steampunk. I think it would be the most straightforward comparison.” He pauses and passes the notebook back. “But would they be functional?”

John stares at him blankly. “Functional…?” he repeats.

Sherlock nods impatiently. “Yes, functional. Because we have a three week timeline for this.”

“I was thinking just models…” John answers, mildly confused. “We obviously wouldn’t have time to make them actually _work_.”

“We wouldn’t?” Sherlock raises an eyebrow questioningly. “Three weeks, five days in each…”

“I don’t have five free days,” John interrupts, raising a finger. “I’m on the rugby team; three of my weekdays and every other Saturday are dedicated to practice. I’m lucky to have today because of our game Friday.”

Sherlock frowns deeply. “That _does_ complicate things a bit…” he admits slowly. He doesn’t look very happy. “So we only have two days a week, maybe three to work on this together?”

John shrugs. “Rugby practice lasts between two and three hours. Depending on how much homework I get daily, I may be able to spare an hour after that for this project.” At the skeptical look he receives, he bristles and snaps, “Look, my grades are important and I’m not necessarily prioritizing my sport over this. I’m just telling you what I can do.”

“It simply _sounds_ like rugby is more important to you,” Sherlock replies smoothly, eyeing John as if expecting him to lunge across the table and attack him. “I have no clue what your grades look like, nor do I care to right now. All I’d like to know is how much time we actually have to work on this _together_. Splitting this up will be difficult without this knowledge.”

John sighs and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Mondays and Wednesdays are my free days, so we can meet here on those days.” He looks up again. “If I can get your number, I can text you after practices on my other days, see if you’re available to work on this. However, I still think we should just make them models.”

Sherlock twirls his pen between his fingers thoughtfully before scribbling something down on a sheet of paper. “I think you’re correct. It would be far too time-consuming to make any invention work. Here’s my number.” He slides the paper across the table. “Now, what will the inventions be?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or characters thereof.

John’s mum is home for dinner that night, a rarity for him this year. Ever since Harriet left the year before, their financial situation has gotten worse off. His dad passed away seven years ago and his mother has been working to keep their family afloat since. When his sister got a job at eighteen, she helped their mother financially until she moved out. It’s gotten harder since then. John’s offered to quit rugby and find a job but his mother won’t hear of it.

He’s talking with Greg about school while he waits for the casserole to finish baking when his mother comes in. “Shh, shh,” he says to Greg, who clamps his mouth shut immediately. He knows that John doesn’t like to be distracted by whatever he’s saying when he’s trying to talk to someone else. “Mum?” he calls, standing up and peeking into the sitting room.

“Hi, Johnny!” she chirps happily, closing the door behind him. She kicks off her shoes and smiles up at him. “What are you making?”

“Just a potato casserole,” he answers, smiling back. “I wanted something I didn’t have to focus on. Homework and all. You’re home early…”

She drops her bag on the couch and walks toward him. “I’m working extra time tomorrow so my supervisor told me to leave a bit early tonight. Let me go change and then I want to hear about your day!”

He watches her practically run to her room and looks back at Greg. “I wish I had that much energy… I’m, like, thirty years younger than her and I still come home cranky.” Greg snickers quietly to himself.

He goes to the oven and checks the casserole as he waits for his mother to come back to the kitchen. He still practically jumps when she waltzes back into the room and pulls a chair out. “Alright. So how was your day?”

“It was okay,” John replies, leaning against the counter as he looks at her. “I’ll be busy this week between rugby and a history project my teacher assigned today. It’s supposed to be a ‘group’ project but the girl in my group rarely shows up so I only have the new student to work with.”

“A new student, huh?” she asks, crossing her legs. She’s changed out of her normal pencil skirt and blouse into a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. Ever since he was little, he’s always associated her casual clothes with her being happy, even though he now knows she likes her job. But it’s always so much easier to be around her when she’s in something more comfortable looking.

He smiles. “Yeah. Dunno how reliable but he seems to take school seriously so I’m not worried. Hey, I have a question…” She nods slightly, encouraging him on. “Well, I was wondering if that fence in the backyard has always been there?”

Her smile fades and she looks at him curiously. “No, it hasn’t… Why?”

“When did we put it up?” he evades, watching her reactions.

She leans back in her chair and sighs deeply. “After you asked for it.”

“ _I_ asked for it?” he inquires incredulously.

“Yes, you asked for it after your friend moved away,” she answers, biting her lower lip. “He was such a queer child but you two got along so well. He moved suddenly and you never said goodbye. You became very depressed and, after a few months, you demanded that a fence went up so nothing could come out of the woods…”

A chill runs up John’s spine. “Oh… I don’t remember that…” He glances out the window, wondering what he had been so worried about coming out of the woods. He starts when the timer on the oven goes off and hurries to pull the casserole out of the oven. “I’ve never tried this before. I kind of just threw things together. Do you think I could have some grocery money so I can get the shopping done on my way home from practice tomorrow?”

“Let me go see what I’ve got,” she replies and disappears into the sitting room for her purse while he starts dishing up.

 

XxX

 

_“Sherlock?” child-John calls, wandering through the woods. It’s either dark out or the trees have grown too close together because he can hardly see in front of his own feet. He trips over roots a few times. “Sherlock! Where are you? Sher?” He’s not sure why he decided to wander into the woods; he’s never done it before. He stops and looks around, suddenly realizing that he can no longer see his backyard. He tries to simply turn around and take his same path back, worried that he won’t be able to get out if he can’t see his backyard._

_After what feels like forever, he sits down on a root and pouts, trying not to cry. He’s wandered into the woods and now he can’t get out. And his friend still isn’t around. John puts his face into his hands, wondering what he’s going to do. He doesn’t have long to feel so defeated, though, as he hears something to his right. He looks up and sees Sherlock standing there, his expression confused. “John? Why are you out here? Let me show you the way out…” John stands up and Sherlock wanders over to him, taking his hand, which John promptly grips tightly. He starts walking and the blond follows him obediently. “I’m moving soon…” he suddenly announces into the quiet._

_John looks at the back of his head in surprise. “When?” he asks timidly._

_“I’m not sure yet…” Sherlock answers, squeezing his friend’s hand minutely. “My mum and dad aren’t telling me a lot…” John can see the hill that leads to his house now and he’s feeling sick to his stomach._

_John stumbles over a rock or a root -- he can’t tell -- and Sherlock turns to right him. “I’m okay…” he says in a quiet voice. His friend watches him a moment and then matches his stride as they start walking again. “Sherlock, you can stay with me and my family… Please don’t go…”_

_Sherlock glances at him. “I want to stay with you but I think I’d miss my family too much…”_

_They’re at the treeline. John turns and hugs him tightly. “Come say g’bye before you go. I’ll make you cookies.”_

_“Okay,” Sherlock mumbles, hugging him back. “I’ll see you later, yeah?” John nods as he pulls back and stares at him, reluctant to leave him. “I promise I’ll see you again. We’re still packing…”_

_John sighs. “I’ll wait out here tomorrow… ‘Night, Sher..” He slowly steps past the treeline and onto the lawn. He glances over his shoulder and swears he sees some sort of creature standing there instead of Sherlock but he blinks and it’s gone. He stares at the spot until his mother comes running down the hill, calling his name…_

John wakes to his alarm going off and a sliver of sunlight streaming through his window. He reaches over and shuts off his alarm but lays there for a few extra minutes, mulling over his dream. Slowly, he climbs out of bed and gets ready for the day.

It’s a week later and his dream has shifted to the one he had last night. He’d finally asked Molly why she doesn’t like Sherlock but she still won’t tell him. The project with Sherlock has been going fairly well; they’ve so far been able to agree on all aspects and the beginnings of both models are coming together. He’d won his rugby game and still hasn’t told Greg about Sherlock, for reasons he’s unsure about. But he’s decided to talk to him about it today, before Sherlock comes over to work on the project with him.

His mother has already left for work by the time he leaves his room that morning. A note from her is taped to the fridge, reminding him to have a good day. He smiles as he reads it over and pockets it before starting on breakfast. He’s in the middle of cooking eggs when Greg appears at the dining room table. “What’re ya making? It smells good,” he says by way of greeting.

“Eggs, exactly the way you hate them,” John answers cheerfully. “Hey, I need to talk to you. I’m having a friend over after school…”

“Is it Molly?” he asks anxiously, looking ready to bolt. “Because I won’t be here if it is; no worries, my friend.”

John sighs impatiently. “No, Greg, it’s not Molly.” He settles back down. “His name is Sherlock. We’ll be working on our history project.” He’s too focused on the eggs to see Greg’s eyes widen suddenly, or how he sits up just a bit too straight. “I want you to be quiet while he’s here. I don’t know if he’ll notice you or not but I kind of need to focus so no babbling, okay?”

“I...don’t think I’ll stick around…” Greg says, tapping the table with the fingers of his right hand.

John glances over at him. “Really? Why not?”

Greg shrugs. “Just… I’d rather not bug you. Your grades are important and all. I don’t like new people anyway…”

“That’s a lie,” John replies with a frown. “What’s the real reason? Come on, tell me. You’ve never had a problem with my friends before.”

“You make really weird friends, John,” Greg reminds him defensively. “You can’t seem to make _one_ human friend anymore and that’s kind of concerning. Sorry if I don’t want to be around werewolves and vampires.”

“I don’t have werewolf friends and he’s perfectly human, far as I can tell,” John says, irritated. “And you’re being stupid; _you’re_ not even human anymore, to be fair!”

Greg huffs angrily. “I’m more human than that _thing_ you’re bringing home! You asked your mum why that fence was put up, well, maybe you need to dream a bit harder.” He looks torn between continuing to be angry and slightly worried.

John stares at him blankly, spoon for his eggs at his side. “What are you talking about? You know Sherlock? You know why I asked for the fence? What aren’t you telling me?” But Greg seems to have made up his mind and he’s marching from the house defiantly, leaving John feeling as though he understands things _less_ now than he believed waking up this morning.

XxX

 

**Bonus: Greg's death (1984)**

Greg’s wandering down the street, grumbling to himself angrily. “Fucking waste of time… That’s what I get for being nice…” He’s too focused on whining to himself; his mildly drunk mind is too slow. Therefore, he doesn’t immediately notice the car coming up behind him, only turning when the flash of headlights throw his shadow across the pavement in an odd way. By the time he pauses and starts to turn around, the car is too close and it slams into his side. He gasps, feeling the pain as who knows how many ribs crack. He feels himself hit the ground ridiculously hard, and feels the crack of his skull on the pavement… And then he feels nothing.

For a moment, he simply lays there and tries to register everything. He hears the car screech to a stop and he sits up, looking toward the windshield but feeling blind from the headlights still glaring in his direction. He stands up and walks toward the car. “Hello? I’m okay!” He comes to a halt when he sees his ex-girlfriend’s face through the windshield, expression frozen in surprise. “Julia!?” he cries, his temper flaring. “Look, if this was just an accident…”

He doesn’t finish, though, because as he watches, her face slowly lights up, as if triumphant. She puts the car in reverse before shifting into drive again and tears off. He leaps out of the way, colour catching his eye on the ground by his feet. He looks down at his body, his feet sinking through his chest; blood is pooling by his head. “Wait…” he mumbles, turning his hands over in front of his eyes before trying to nudge his body’s hand with his toe. “I’m… I’m… Dead... I’m dead.” He glares after his ex’s car, watching the taillights disappear down the road. Angrily, he screams, “YOU FUCKING BITCH!!”

He paces around his body until his temper slowly dissipates and he sits on the curb. He stays there for the next three hours, waiting for someone to notice his body as he watches the pool of blood creep toward his ghostly feet. It’s quite a bit darker when a car turns down the street and stops with the headlights on his body. He perks up, watching a girl he knows from school get out of the car and run to his body. She looks him over, checking for a pulse, before standing and sprinting toward a neighbor’s house, yelling for someone to call 999.

Greg stays silent, eyes on the girl, and then he whispers, in mild appreciation, “Elizabeth…”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is so short. It's all I really have ready right now. And my deadline is Halloween. XD This is fantastic. 
> 
> (Also, sorry for the double-note, if you end up with it. I don't know why it's carrying the first one over and I don't know how to take it off. :/ How irritating...)
> 
> I'm surprised at the attention so far and I hope I haven't disappointed yet! Thank-you for your thoughts and kudos and bookmarks! I appreciate everyone~ Please leave a review if you feel so inclined.


	3. Chapter 3

John feels moody all day after that. Greg doesn’t even bother walking him to school -- which makes him feel worse. He really only has his two friends and he hates fighting with either of them. Greg’s been there for him since he was seven and not having him around makes him feel vulnerable and lonely. Molly meets him in history class but she’s running late so they don’t get to talk. About ten minutes into the period, the class is turned loose to work in their groups. Sherlock and John move their desks closer and pull out their notebooks to work on the written portion of their project. “Where are you at?” Sherlock asks, peering at his partner’s paper.

“Er, I didn’t get a chance to work any more on it after I got home,” John admits with a frown. “Did you get any more done?”

Sherlock doesn’t look nearly as embarrassed as John as he says, “No, unfortunately. My brother dragged me out of the house. So,” he picks up his pen and looks at John, “I think we should talk about our choices for the models…” He pauses and frowns. “Are you okay?”

John shrugs. “Not really but we have a paper to write. So it doesn’t really matter.”

“It does if it will impair your focus,” Sherlock counters, setting his pen back down and watching the blond expectantly.

John sighs and slumps down in his chair. “I got into a sort of fight with my best friend this morning.” Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Sherlock glance across the room toward where Molly is sitting. “No, my other best friend. He doesn’t...um, he doesn’t go to school here. We’ve been friends for years, though, and haven’t had a disagreement like this. He’s mad about nothing!”

Sherlock nods thoughtfully, resting his chin on the heel of his right hand. “Sounds frustrating. People can be so unpredictably fussy…”

John watches him a moment, curious. “Do you...have a lot of friends?” he asks hesitantly. He doesn’t mind talking about Greg and Molly occasionally as they work sometimes but he can’t recall Sherlock ever talking about his friends.

Sherlock purses his lips as if he’s tasted something sour. “No. I don’t normally bother with people… The time I’ve spent with you is the most I’ve spent with someone other than my family since I was...seven…”

John frowns, shifting to face him better and knocks their knees. “Sorry,” he mumbles, feeling his ears turn pink. “Well, do you not like people or maybe…?”

Sherlock shrugs. “I don’t like a lot of people, no. But I’ve enjoyed spending time with you. So, I’m just picky about my choice of company, I suppose.” John nods and turns to his notebook, picking up his pen. “Do we need to reschedule for tonight?”

“What?” John looks up at him in surprise. “No, no. It’s fine. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Let’s knock this thing out.” He smiles at him and Sherlock twitches his lips in return before they both turn back to their notebooks.

 

XxX

 

Sherlock’s already waiting outside by the flagpole by the time John finally manages to get out of the school. The irritating part about being on the rugby team is that a lot of people _know_ him but he doesn’t have a lot of _friends_. He’s constantly getting stopped as he’s leaving and he never really wants to talk to anyone -- normally he’s just too tired to care. He smiles when he sees Sherlock, sitting in the grass while he reads a very thick novel. “Hey,” he greets, not really wanting to interrupt him.

The dark-haired boy glances up and gives him a twitch of his lips. “I was starting to wonder if you’d changed your mind.”

“Oh, no,” John says, shifting uncomfortably. “Just...people…”

Sherlock looks more amused than before. “‘Just people’? You’re starting to sound like me, John.” He puts his book away and stands up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Are you ready to leave now?”

“I’ve been ready since the bell rang,” John answers with a grin. “Let’s go while I can still escape.” Sherlock chuckles as they start walking. “So, you don’t really sound like you’ve lost your English accent… You haven’t always lived in Scotland, have you?”

Sherlock glances at him appreciatively. “No, I haven’t. Only since I was about seven years old…”

John nods thoughtfully. “Why did you come back? Parents’ work or something?”

For a moment, Sherlock hesitates, looking torn. “Not quite… Our hearts have always been here. We’d left because of some issues here but we decided that we wanted to come home.”

“I see,” John says, wanting to push what the “issues” were but he’s worried about offending him.

“You know, the old house I used to live in was haunted,” Sherlock remarks casually, as if what he’s said means little. “I used to hear voices sometimes and catch glimpses of a young man wandering around.”

John frowns slightly. “That sounds…” But he doesn’t know what it sounds like. He’s so used to seeing Greg, and a few other random spirits over the years, that he can’t imagine being surprised by the mere glimpse of a ghost. “I don’t know what to say,” he admits sheepishly. “I, er, I can see ghosts. I’m kind of used to them.”

Sherlock looks at him in surprise. “Really? That must be really interesting…”

“I guess,” John replies, shrugging. “One of my best friends, the one I had that tiff with this morning, is a ghost. He’s just as annoying as any other human, if not more so.”

“If he walks through walls casually and gives you heart-attacks, I can see why that would make him more annoying than other humans,” Sherlock snorts, sounding amused.

John glances up at him, mildly startled by his reaction. Molly hadn’t been too surprised and he still thinks it’s because she’d seen Greg at the time he’d told her. He hasn’t had the guts to tell his mum, afraid she’ll think he’s crazy. In fact, that’s why he doesn’t tell a lot of people. “He does that sometimes, yeah,” he replies, unable to keep the awe from his voice. “But at least you’ll have some idea of why I’m distracted, if he decides to be there…” He frowns, remembering Greg’s declaration that morning.

Seeming to somehow pick up on his mood change, Sherlock asks, “How long have you been playing rugby?”

“My last few years of primary school,” John answers cheerfully, relieved by the subject change. “We weren’t supposed to play it; one of our headmasters tried to ban it one year entirely. The adults were worried about injuries. But we had to be ready for secondary school, when we could try out!”

Sherlock snickers. “That is very true. I think that’s a fair point. Are you good, then?”

John feels his ears turn pink. “I guess… My coach has offered me the captain’s position for next season…”

“I would think that makes you a _very_ good player,” Sherlock says decidedly. “Are you going to take it?”

“I dunno,” John answers honestly, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. “I’m already co-captain and that’s more than I thought I’d deserved.. I’ll be leaving next year and that doesn’t seem very fair.”

“But if you deserve it, if you’ve earned it…” Sherlock sounds really confused and John can’t help but smile. “What?”

“Nothing,” he responds, glancing away. “Go left here.”

Sherlock veers left and they cautiously cross the street. “You’re a lot more interesting than I first thought, John Watson…”

The blond opens his mouth to reply but his attention is suddenly grabbed the house on the corner to his right. For several years, this house has remained empty. For some reason, no one can sell it. It’s gotten to the point where the real estate agency has given up on it and handed it back to the city. It’s fate has been fairly uncertain as of late, though it’s looking more and more as if it will be destroyed to make way for a new cookie-cutter house. However, sitting on the porch, looking moody as ever, is Greg. He’s never seen him there before, and it surprises him to see him sitting there as though he belongs there.

“John? Are you okay?” Sherlock asks, touching his arm and causing him to jump.

“Huh?” He glances at Sherlock and back to the now empty porch. “Yeah… I just...saw something I wasn’t expecting…” With a frown, he starts walking again. In retrospect, he feels a bit bad for never responding to his compliment. “It’s a strange day when Greg really startles me!” he laughs awkwardly.

Sherlock shifts his bag, looking uncomfortable. “Greg?”

“Oh, uh, my friend,” John answers and looks up at him. “I’m sorry; I’m freaking you out…”

“What? No,” Sherlock says, sounding surprised. “I… Your focus simply shifted…” He smiles in a gentle way that makes his eyes light up.

“Don’t worry,” John replies easily. “He’s too moody to bug me this afternoon so you’ll have all my attention.” He says it in a silkier tone than he’d originally meant to but finds he doesn’t regret it.

Sherlock’s neck and ears turn a bright red and he looks ahead determinedly. “Right. We’ll see…”

John moves in front of him and hurries to his front door, unlocking it and pushing it open. “Sorry if it’s messy,” John calls, dropping his bag on the couch and going to the kitchen for drinks. “Do you want something to drink? Tea?”

Sherlock closes the door behind him. “That sounds wonderful. It’s getting a bit nippy out… How do you play rugby in this?”

John puts on the kettle and wanders back out. “We’re constantly moving. It’s when we slow down that we actually feel the chill. Blood circulation and all that?” He sits on the couch and, hesitantly, Sherlock sits beside him.

“But in those shorts?” he scoffs, setting his bag on the floor by his feet. John laughs, leaning back. “I’m not kidding. They’re ridiculous.”

“I can move in them, though,” John reminds him teasingly.

“Can we just work on this project?” Sherlock asks, blushing again, but still smiling. “That suit will take the longest to finish…” The blond agrees and they set to work, chatting idly and only stopping for tea. “Has anyone ever told you how amazing your eyes are?” he demands suddenly, leaning toward the other minutely while staring intensely at him.

John feels himself turn red, thinking he wants to move away but physically unable to. “Um, no… I… I can’t say anyone has…”

“Pity,” he murmurs, his own wide eyes sucking John in. “Because they are absolutely mesmerizing… I feel as though I could get lost in them.”

That breaks the spell and John snorts. “Did you really just say that? That was so corny.”

Sherlock grimaces. “Yes, and I can’t believe I actually said it…”

They both laugh a little until John asks, “Do you want to watch a movie? While we work, of course.”

“Of course,” Sherlock repeats calmly but he’s still smiling. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’m really in the mood for a slasher flick,” John muses, glancing at the movie case across the room by the television.

“A what?” He looks back at Sherlock, who has a very confused expression on his face.

“A slasher flick?” John tries again, surprised and a bit perplexed. “You know, ‘Nightmare on Elm Street’ or ‘Friday the 13th’?”

Sherlock wrinkles his brow. “I’ve never heard of them. Should I have seen them?”

John scoffs and stands, going toward the movie case. “Regardless of whether or not you should, you get to.” He pulls out one of his favourites and puts the DVD into the player. “No one should live without seeing at least one, once.” He plops down next to Sherlock.

“If you’re so very sure…” the dark-haired boy drawls, adjusting so their knees are pressed together. John blushes deeply but all he’s really thinking that _more_ contact would be preferable.

 

XxX

 

**Bonus: Sherlock’s Regret**

 

_John and Sherlock are in the woods, their favourite place to play hide-and-seek and adventurers. Today is a bit different, though. It happens every year but that doesn’t mean Sherlock looks forward to it. He and his family always go on a trip every year. They leave on November second and come home on November seventeenth. He absolutely hates it and wishes that it wouldn’t keep happening. But his mum has already told him that it’ll never stop._

_John looks over at him sheepishly. “You leave today, don’t you?” he asks quietly._

_Sherlock nods with a deep frown. “We’re running a bit late this year but we’ll be leaving before it gets dark, I think.”_

_“Why do you have to go?” John sits down on a log and sighs deeply._

_“Because it’s tradition,” Sherlock answers, deciding that that was the best half-truth he could give. The full truth would be too scary for his friend. “I wanted to come spend some time with you before we go. I always miss you a lot.”_

_John smiles at him. “I miss you a lot, too. There’s no one to play with me when you’re gone.”_

_Sherlock shoves a hand into one of his pockets and sits down next to John, pulling a necklace out. “I made Mycroft make it. I wanted you to be able to have something for when I’m gone. It’ll get warm when I get closer to home.”_

_John takes the necklace and pulls it over his head happily. “Really? That’s so cool… Thank-you!” He leans over and hugs him tightly, to which Sherlock gives a half-hearted attempt to return it._

_As he pulls away, he pulls a necklace out from under his shirt. “I have one, too.” The two necklaces are identical except for the charms hanging from the leather bands. While John’s is blue, Sherlock’s is green._

_John beams, obviously pleased. But, slowly, a frown starts to pull at the corners of his lips and Sherlock wants nothing more than to wipe it off his face, make him smile again. “Will it always be cold while you’re away?”_

_“Yes,” he says softly. “But it’ll never be long…” Then he suddenly feels it -- the changing. He’s normally asleep before it happens, so he always has assumed it lands on the third, not the second. He jumps up suddenly and yells, “I have to go! I’m sorry!” He takes off, running deep into the woods with John calling after him. He doesn’t listen, afraid that John will follow him._

_He hates this part of the changing, he the part where he starts forgetting himself and becoming something else. Even the pain of the transformation doesn’t match the frustration and agony of losing control of his rational mind, though he knows it’s there. He’s scared because none of his family is around and he doesn’t know what to do._

_He’s in full transformation, his rational voice tucked into a corner, when he hears the footsteps and turns. The name “John” runs through his mind but he growls deep in his chest as he approaches the human in front of him. His body is hunched over, covered in fur and his hands are now claws. The boy turns and runs, yelling things he’s not processing. And all he wants is to tear things apart._

_Someone wraps their arms around him, the comfortable body heat of his brother calming him slightly. The boy is on the ground, trembling and crying, “Why is he doing that? He’s my friend! Sherlock, I’m your friend!” Sherlock is vaguely aware of the guilt that runs through the rational part of his mind at the words. But he feels so wild, growling and thrashing in his brother’s arms._

_A young man is suddenly standing in front of the boy, blurry around the edges, and looking furious. “Take him away from here! Stay away from him! Take your little monster and your freakish family and leave! Don’t ever come back and never come near John again! I mean it!” As Mycroft starts backing away, the young man suddenly vanishes and John gets up, running away as fast as he can without tripping and Mycroft takes him home._

Sherlock stares out the window of the classroom he’s waiting in, watching the rain run down the pane. He’s waiting for John to stop by so they can talk to the teacher about their finished project. It’s almost time for him to go on his yearly trip, away from everyone. He hates it. He would much rather spend more time with John, take him on dates, and watch more of his rugby games. But he will not risk hurting him again.

“Hey,” John calls, running into the room. He turns around, catching sight of something around John’s neck as he pulls his sweatshirt off and accidentally pulling his shirt up. “Sorry I’m late… What?”

“What’s that around your neck?” Sherlock asks, stepping toward him.

John pulls the leather band out, a blue charm dangling from it. “What, this thing?” he asks, glancing at it. “Just a necklace. Can’t remember where it came from but I’ve never taken it off, to my memory. I once threw a fit when I was little after my mum tried to take it from me. I’d probably do it again. It’s just kind of part of me now…” He shrugs and puts it away. “Why?”

Hesitantly, Sherlock smiles and pulls his necklace out. “I have one just like it…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me way too long... Obviously, this isn't done. I didn't beat my deadline. Oh well. Fluff and plot, just in time, and werewolf for the occasion! I hope you all enjoyed this installment. And have/had a wonderfully thrilling Halloween! :D
> 
> Please leave reviews if you are so inclined. I enjoy your thoughts. :3


	4. Chapter 4

John stares at him blankly for a moment and then narrows his eyes in a glare as everything comes back to him with a jolt. “You’re joking. You lied to me?” Sherlock’s smile fades and an astonished expression comes over is face at John’s tone. “You bloody lied to me! I’ve been so frustrated and you’ve been holding everything I’ve been struggling to remember in your hand -- around your neck -- and you lied to me!” His hands are in fists at his sides and he wants to punch something.

“I… John, I’m…” He doesn’t get to finish as the teacher waltzes in at that moment to request that she keep their steampunk spacesuit. They agree and before Sherlock can stop him, John turns and leaves the room.

He decides to skip rugby practice; he’s too angry and unfocused to go and he knows it. He pulls his sweatshirt back over his head and shoves his fists into the pocket on the front as he walks home in a huff. He knows that he’s not really angry but more hurt. He understands Greg’s frustration about trying to remember things, and it seems even more unfair that someone was able to have everything he was fighting to recall and refuse to tell him.

When he gets home, he goes straight to his room and throws his bag on the floor. He stands there a moment, unsure what he’s able to do in his state. He can’t focus on anything. Eventually, he collapses on his bed, trying to clear his mind, and ends up falling asleep.

 

XxX

 

It’s well past seven at night when he wakes up again and heads to the kitchen to start on dinner. But his mum is already in the kitchen, munching on a slice of pizza. She looks up at him as he wanders in and smiles. “Hey, sweetheart! I didn’t want to bug you and I didn’t really know what to make so I figured we could splurge a little.” She pushes the box toward him.

He twists his lips and hesitantly takes a slice. “Mum, you shouldn’t have…”

Her smile widens. “Too late. Just enjoy it. Hard day?” She leans on the counter.

“Long,” John mumbles, eating his slice with a sudden hunger. “I, um, I kind of wanted to talk to you about something…”

“Of course,” she says, sounding a bit amused. He glances up at her, trying not to scowl. “We always talk about things when I’m home. Hopefully they’re important things.”

Reluctantly, he smiles and polishes off his slice. “Okay, yeah, fine. Well, this is a bit more specific.” And then he hesitates. For the past ten years, he’s only ever mentioned what he sees to his mother once and it was quite on accident. This, though, is a risk. Slowly, he continues, “Did you ever know a Greg Lestrade?”

She pauses, almost dropping her piece of pizza in surprise as she stares at him. “Where did you get that name?”

“Er,” he mumbles, now feeling even more unsure of himself. “The, uh, library.”

She purses her lips, obviously not believing him. Instead of continuing that line of questioning, she decides to go another route and says, “I knew him in secondary school. A right git he was, too. Probably really lonely, though. He was exclusive to himself, creating a new definition for cool that was almost impossible to attain.” She sighs and sets her pizza down. “I didn’t know him well, to be honest. He seemed to be a master at keeping himself at a distance from everyone…” She looks up at him, her normal light seeming to be hidden by a deep shadow. “We were both at this party one night and he left early. I...I found him later. A hit and run, is what they said…”

John feels his eyes widen and hears Greg gasp behind him, “Oh!” He resists the urge to look over his shoulder at him.

After a tight moment in which his mother attempts to eat more but is obviously no longer hungry, she asks, “So, where did you really hear that name?”

John runs a hand through his hair as he sighs. “You’re going to think I’m absolutely nutters.” She rolls her eyes, as if punctuating that she already thinks so. He scoffs playfully. “Shuddup. I’m not!”

“Okay, sure, you’re not,” she teases and grins at his offended expression. “Tell me. Are you researching bizarre things on the internet?”

“It’s not even that easy,” he replies, feeling a lot more comfortable. “I can...I can see ghosts… And talk to them?”

She doesn’t respond right away, and certainly not the way he anticipated. At first, she looks really confused as she asks, “And that’s how you heard Greg’s name?” And then a light seems to appear above her head and her eyes widen. “The man who took you home…”

He nods, pursing his lips. “I later found out his name is Gregory Lestrade and he’s taken a liking to me.”

“He’s still around?” She sounds surprised and not at the same time, like she should have anticipated this but it’s still catching her off guard. “And he just spends all his time following you?”

John laughs, crossing his arms. “Sort of. He’s my friend now. He comes to talk to me when he’s bored or when he’s remembered part of his life and needs me to write it down for him. Look, I’ve got the notebook…” He goes into the other room and digs the notebook out of his backpack, bringing it back in for his mum. “I’m not crazy… He’s mad because no one knows who really killed him and he won’t leave without people knowing.”

She flips through the notebook, frowning at its pages. “It was an accident, though…”

“Not according to him,” he explains, now a bit uncertain. He’s not sure his mum isn’t going to call someone to have him taken away and he’s not sure that she doesn’t believe he’s made all this up, including looking up random facts about a dead man on the internet.

But suddenly, she lets out a bark of a laugh. “His favourite colour was purple?” she snickers, setting the notebook down. “For god’s sake, he was always in blue and all his things were red!”

He wrinkles his brow in confusion. “And that’s all you garnered from that whole thing?”

“I’m sorry, but that’s absolutely…” She fights off laughter and looks at him. “John, this is amazing. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to think I was crazy…” he mutters doubtfully, hugging himself. “It’s not like it’s a normal thing for someone to just announce, ‘Hey, I can talk to dead people!’ Ya know?”

She leans forward and sighs, resting her chin on the palms of her hands. “In all actuality, John, it makes so much sense. Crazy is what I had been afraid of and this...this is a relief. It’s not like we’re in the dark ages here. Ghosts exist and some people would be jealous of what you can do.”

He gives her a very sarcastic look. “Really? Because it’s actually quite frustrating. I can’t do anything except keep them company until they leave…”

“That does sound frustrating,” she mumbles, twisting her lips thoughtfully. “I thought you said you could help Greg, though?”

He shrugs. “One day, if I’m lucky…” He picks up a second slice of pizza and starts eating it.

“How long have you known him?” she inquires, picking her slice back up.

“Since I was seven or so,” John replies easily. “I think after Sherlock left. He seemed to know I needed someone and he just kind of started spending time with me. I’ve really appreciated him…”

She smiles gently, reaching over to give his shoulder a squeeze. “I’m glad. I’m glad he finally made a friend and I’m glad you haven’t been left alone. Sherlock leaving was hard for you and it was really hard for your father and I to watch. I’m glad he was there…”

John smiles at her, feeling startled and humbled all at once. “Thanks, Mum. I’m glad you’re not freaking out.”

“If I was going to freak out, I wouldn’t do in front of you, John,” she answers with a laugh. “Hey, I think I’m going to turn in early for the night, finish that book you lent me forever ago. Unless there’s something else you need to talk to me about?”

John thinks about telling her that he’s upset that Greg is angry about him spending time with Sherlock, how he’s torn about being happy now that he’s got his missing memories back and how he’s angry with Sherlock for never writing, how he wants to spend time with his old friend and wants to punch him in the face at the same time. Instead, he shakes his head. “Go read the book we’ve both obviously forgotten about,” he tells her instead and she laughs before kissing his forehead and taking her piece of pizza with her to her room.

He watches her leave and then slumps to the ground with a groan. He feels like he’s being ridiculous about his whole situation but he can’t stop being angry…

 

XxX

**Bonus: What Greg will never tell John**

"Come on, Lizzy,” Greg drawls, wondering if he’s had enough to drink to be doing this. The two of them are standing on the front porch, the party raging on inside. “Let’s ditch this place.”

She smiles wryly. “No, Greg. I’m here for Alex. I’m not going anywhere yet.” She’s twisting her hair on one finger, looking like a tease. He wonders if she even realizes what she looks like.

He sighs and crosses his arms. “Really? He doesn’t even notice you’re here.” He’s actually not sure about that. He’s not really sure who Alex is. Well, that’s not quite true. He knows he’s on the school’s rugby team and he gets amazing grades and he’s not really that popular. There have been rumours about him wanting to be captain of the rugby team but nobody’s really sure he can make it, since he’s not even a co-captain yet. From what Greg has bothered to ascertain, he’s actually a very awkward kid with ambitious goals and a ridiculously optimistic view on life. And Greg knows he was only invited to this party because Alex is trying to boost his popularity in the school. He thinks that Greg showing up will make it seem like he’s worth people’s time and that almost made him not want to come at all.

“On the contrary, I’m fairly sure he’s probably wondering where I am right now,” Elizabeth says, raising an eyebrow delicately. She really is something else. “Why can’t you just stick around, enjoy yourself a bit?”

Greg snorts, leaning on the railing. “I’m only here to make him look less lame. I’m not enjoying myself at all.”

She frowns and fusses with the sleeve of her blouse. “I think you’re being unfair… He’s a really nice guy. Why do you think he’s just trying to boost his image?”

“Because that’s the only reason I’m ever invited to parties anymore,” Greg admits, annoyed. This isn’t what he wants to talk about. “Are you sure you don’t want to ditch? I can go get my bike and we can go into town for awhile.”

Elizabeth shakes her head and shifts like she’s going to go inside. “I’m sure. Alex cares that I’m here and I want to be here for him.”

Greg isn’t easy to admit defeat. He really likes Elizabeth, and not just her looks. He’s been pining after her for months and she’s determined to keep their relationship at the friendship level. For what reason? Apparently, she really likes this Alex kid for some reason. However, his patience is really wearing on him and he’s getting agitated. “Fine, okay. Well, I’m going home.”

She reaches out and grabs his arm. “Greg, come on. Stay awhile. You’ve only just got here.”

He feels his temper flare horribly and he hates himself for it. But she’s here for someone else, and telling him to stay for her. She’s twisted and horrible and he’s so angry… “No. I’m going home. This party is lame and I have no reason to stay. I showed up, everyone saw my face, his popularity will be higher than Everest by tomorrow. I’ve done my job so let me go home.”

For the briefest of moments, Elizabeth looks wounded. Then she sticks her chin in the air, simply lets him go, and silently marches back inside. Greg rubs his temples and hops down the steps, shuffling down the walk to the street. “Fucking waste of my time…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gooood, I hate this arc so much. But I knew that if I didn't post this, then I couldn't get the rest of the flow back and you'd never get anything out of me for another year. So, here's the painful arc that took so long. Drama and, hopefully, fluff will follow. 
> 
> I hope this is an acceptable installment. Sorry for the delay, the lack of Greg, the lack of Sherlock, the lack here in general. Ugh. I'm so sorry for this. :P
> 
> Please review if you feel so inclined anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some feels. 
> 
> This is basically just a bonus to help explain some things in the previous chapter, and in the next chapter. Also, I had the little blurb about John seeing other spirits, not just Greg, and decided it needed a home. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_“Why is he doing that? I’m his friend! I’m your friend, Sherlock!”_

_John looks up at Greg as he appears in front of him, screaming at the creature holding a thrashing Sherlock in his arms. His body is shivering, physically recognizing that the two in front of him are not creatures he should be around. But he_ knows _it’s Sherlock, just watched him change. He doesn’t understand why his friend is trying to attack him. The bigger creature, John’s wondering if it’s not Sherlock’s older brother, simply stares for a moment before starting to back away. Greg stares down at John. “Who are you?” the little boy asks but he shakes his head._

_“Get up. You’re not safe here,” he answers urgently. “Come on, let’s go.” Shakily, John gets to his feet and the man beckons him forward. He stumbles twice as he tries to keep up with the stranger._

_“Why are we running?” John sniffles, watching his feet so he won’t trip. “He’s my friend! He wouldn’t hurt me!”_

_Greg looks back at him, wishing he could help him better. “He’s not your friend right now…”_

_John sticks his chin up defiantly. “He’s my_ friend, _no matter what! I_ know _he wouldn’t hurt me!” He trips over a root and hurriedly gets to his feet again._

_“Maybe before, maybe after, but not when he’s like this,” Greg tells him, ushering him toward the treeline. “Come on, don’t slow down…”_

_“He would not hurt me,” John says sternly, rubbing his nose on his sleeve. When he steps onto the lawn, he pauses and looks over his shoulder._

_Greg wants to shake the boy, so absolutely frustrated with him. “John!” The blond looks up at him with wide eyes. “Keep running! Let’s keep going!” John runs after him, propelled by his urgent tone. He encourages him to keep moving until they get to the back porch where he watches the boy go to the door._

_His mother flings it open, hugging her son. “Where have you been? It’s practically dark out!”_

_“Sorry, Mummy,” John mumbles, tearing up as everything from his evening hits him hard. “Sherlock...he had to go on his trip in a hurry. He left me alone in the woods… But a nice man helped me home.”_

_“Nice man?” she asks, looking around the backyard. Greg knows she doesn’t see him. “Let’s go inside, John…” He’s trying not to cry as he lets his mother take him inside, unaware that she sweeps the backyard with her eyes one last time before closing the door behind her._

_…_

_John’s watching his father put the fence up around the woods, frowning. “Daddy, can we put a gate in? Right here?” He wanders over toward a spot about ten feet from where he usually went in and met his old friend. It’s almost a year after Sherlock had left; his family hadn’t come back._

_His dad glances over at him. “Are you sure? We already have one down by the house…”_

_“Right here,” John insists, looking back at him. “And it should lock from the inside.” He turns his eyes back to the trees, peering into the dark as if hoping he’ll see something that no longer exists._

_“From the inside?” his father inquires, walking up behind him. “You won’t be able to get in that way…” He rests his hands on his son’s shoulders._

_John nods seriously. “I know… I don’t want to get in. It’s just in case.” He doesn’t define what “just in case” means, and his dad decides not to ask. But he does what his son desires of him. And, in a few days, John has a fence with a gate that locks from the inside, where he tucks away anything that has any association to Sherlock._

_…_

_When his dad dies, John accompanies his family to the cemetary, much as he wishes he doesn’t have to. He sees the teenage girl who gave up on life sitting on her grave, watching him sadly. The soldier who died in the Blitz and is still missing his arm is standing behind him, muttering a prayer of some sort. A little boy who drown in a river is hesitantly hiding behind gravestones, creeping closer with each line from the soldier. The dead don’t always gather in the graveyard, contrary to popular belief. In fact, John has seen the teenage girl wandering the streets around the high school on multiple occasions, and the soldier spends most of his time downtown. It seems they like to visit again when a new body arrives in their midst._

_Even though he sees all these extra people he knows no one else can, even though he knows his dad had left with no reason to stay, he stands with his family above his grave. It’s been a week since his father had passed and he still wonders why his spirit didn’t stay. Why did he not feel the need to keep his family safe? Didn’t he want to watch Harry and him grow up? Didn’t he want to keep his wife company on long nights? But John knows the answer to all those questions, he just hates them. His dad knew, when he left, that is family would be fine and he didn’t have to stay to ensure it._

_John glances up at Greg, who is standing beside him and staring at the headstone with a distant look in his eye. “He was really good,” John mutters, resting on hand on the outline of Greg’s leg, because it would look much too strange if he tried to hold his hand._

_“I know,” Greg answers quietly. “He was…” He looks down at the blond and smiles. “But so are you.” John doesn’t know if he believes him, because his dad was the greatest man he’d ever known, but he nods anyway and pretends to listen to the aunt who is telling what’s supposed to be a funny story about his dad while he tries not to cry._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for your continued support!! Please review if you feel so inclined. :)


	6. Chapter 6

“Um, John?” Greg’s voice is above him; he knows he must be standing _right there_ so he doesn’t even bother looking up. “I know you might not really be up for it but I’d really like to show you something important…”

John slowly tilts his head up, staring into those deep brown eyes, and sighs. “Fine…” He pushes himself up off the floor and stands, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Where are we going?”

Greg runs his hand through his hair and beckons him forward as he starts walking toward the sitting room. “You’ll need your shoes and jacket.”

“Really?” John groans and snags his jacket from off the back of a kitchen chair. He puts his shoes on when he gets to the door and follows Greg out. For a bit, neither say anything. Greg simply leads his friend down the street. “Greg?”

“Do you know what I realized, listening to your mum?” the brunette mutters, sounding far away. John really stares at him, afraid that he might be leaving somehow for some reason. But he’s still _very_ there and so he listens. “I realized that I knew Alex, your dad. Sort of. He always wanted to be my friend, no matter what I said or did. He kept bouncing back and I never knew why…”

John watches him in interest and mild sympathy. He never found out why his dad cared so much... “But you never wanted to be his friend?”

Greg shakes his head. “Not really. Kind of, but… He was dorky and ambitious, even if he wasn’t good at what he was ambitious about. I sometimes wondered if he was all there, to be honest.” John snorts, remembering vaguely how much of an airhead his dad could be. “I kept telling him off, embarrassing him, and generally being an arse. And he kept coming back. Then I went to his party that night and I… I don’t even know why.” He’s quiet a moment and then he continues, “I feel that maybe I shouldn’t have been so… I wonder what would have happened if I’d been nice and let him be my friend. He was so much like you. Kind, optimistic… Maybe he’d have made me the better person that you have…”

“I think you’ve made yourself a better person, not me,” John says quietly. He’s not sure whether to be intrigued by what he’s hearing or upset. He’s not used to Greg being anything but confident -- even when he first told him that he was losing his memory.

Suddenly, Greg stops and John stumbles to a standstill. “This is it.” John looks around and then at him in confusion. “This is where I died. The stain on the pavement looks like it’s finally faded out… You used to be able to see where the blood pooled in the gutter.” John stares at the ground, feeling his heart clench painfully. “It’s horrible, really. All these houses… Nothing’s changed. No one looked that night. Not one of them peered out their windows at the sound of the car. No one cared… The worst part is, I was almost home. You know that house down that way, the one that won’t sell now?” John glances where Greg is pointing, to the old house he’d passed just the other day. He can’t see it from here, but he knows exactly where it is. “That’s my house. And I was almost there.

“I stuck around after I died, went home with my parents. I stayed and watched them carry on. Not well, of course. I was their only child. The part that always bothered me was that I was almost close enough to tell them goodbye and that I loved them, but too far for them to ever hear me. They moved after just a few years. I have no clue what happened to them. I suppose they just... _lived_ …”

John reaches out, barely skimming his fingertips against the outline of his friend. He can’t even begin to fathom what it must have been like, watching his parents until they just left and there was nothing he could say. They stand there silently for a few minutes, John’s hand hovering so close but unable to touch him. Finally, Greg says, “I’m sorry. Listening to your mum… She was right. I was lonely in life. But…” He shrugs and looks at John. “Thanks.”

John smiles at him, hugging himself. “You’re welcome, Greg. Thank-you, too…”

 

XxX

 

Sherlock catches Molly after school the next day, when John doesn’t show up. She glares at him, obviously wary. “What do _you_ want?”

“Look," he starts, annoyed. “I know you don’t trust me, nor like me, and it’s in your genes so I don’t blame you. But you _need_ to listen to me. You need to leave. And soon. The blood moon is tonight. I have friends, you know, who are vampires. And I’ve seen what happens when they stay. Leave for your friends, your family, John -- and, _please_ , stay away from John tonight!”

Her eyes automatically narrow at him. “Don’t tell me what to do, Sherlock. And _you_ stay away from John or _I_ will be on a hunt…” She bares her fangs at him and marches off with a swish of her hair and a pop of her hips.

Sherlock stares after her, feeling a bit helpless and hopeless.

 

XxX

 

It’s later that night, when the sun is in the middle of setting, that John heads outside. He goes to the side of his house, where there’s a gate that lets him into the woods, and pulls it open. Molly’s standing in the driveway, peering around the corner, and she beams when she sees him. “Come on,” John says, grinning at her. He needs a night like this. She scuttles toward him and they run into the woods together, stumbling and tripping until they can’t see their feet anymore and they hug the trees as they laugh.

“So why weren’t you at school today?” Molly asks, sitting against the tree. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

John huffs, sitting down across from her and leaning his head against the tree. “I know you did. I’d be worried if you didn’t.” He hugs himself, the November chill eating at his bones slowly. “I didn’t really feel up to going…”

Molly watches him and casually tosses out, “Sherlock caught me during school today…” Her face contorts slightly, as if just mentioning him has caused her stomach to churn.

“Really?” John inquires dryly and raises an eyebrow. “What did he have to say to you?”

She smirks, somehow looking offended and amused at the same time. “He wanted to warn me about the blood moon tonight. Said it was dangerous for me. But, really, the _blood moon_? Can you get any more obvious -- I mean, vampires and a blood moon? It’s just superstition.”

John frowns at her, picking his words carefully. “Yes but… Molly, you said that about Romania when you went. Remember? And look at you now…”

Molly stares at him darkly. “This is different. It’s just a moon.” She pauses and her expression changes to one of mild hurt. “You believe him?”

“Well,” he starts, nervous. The last thing he wants is to ruin his friendship with her. And he’s not sure it isn’t a stupid idea to piss off a vampire. Slowly, he plunges on anyway, “I believe in werewolves and vampires and there’s so much lore, Molly. How can you sort through the facts from the myths without experiencing them? What if he is right? What if the blood moon is important?”

With a slight scowl, she replies, “I suppose we’ll just find out, won’t we?” He doesn’t really like her tone. While she’s not one to always push being right, she doesn’t like being told she’s wrong.

John sighs and tips his head back, staring at the darkening sky. “My mum went on a date tonight…”

There’s a pause and then Molly says, “And you’re okay with that?”

“I want her to be happy,” he answers, keeping his eyes focused on the sky. “She’s waited for eight years and I think she’s lonely. She works all the time and she’s probably tired. I’m going to be leaving for school in a few years and she’ll be alone in the house. I want her to have someone and I know that whoever it is won’t replace Dad. They’re just going to be for my mum and that’s what’s important. It’s bizarre but maybe I’ll even like them.”

“Don’t you want to like them anyway?” she snorts, shifting a little.

He finally looks at her and smiles a bit. “Yeah but as long as he’s not hurting her, I don’t have to. She knows what’s best for her and I don’t have to like them for her to be happy. So long as he isn’t abusing her or anything like that. It would be neat if I ended up liking them, though. Someone else to get along with.”

She smiles at him. “You’ve got an amazing heart, John…” she whispers, hugging her knees to her chest. “I don’t think I could be like that. If my parents divorced or one of them died, I think I’d be too selfish to want them to move on. It doesn’t sit right to me. But maybe that’s just because I’ve grown up with them together and can’t imagine it any other way.” John shrugs and softly agrees. “Do you think Harry would think like you do?”

John huffs and looks at the dirt. He hasn’t actually spoken to his sister since she came back for the holidays last year. With them coming around again, he’s not sure if she’ll visit again. He used to be close to his sister. Close enough that she knew he could see and speak to spirits and she used to indulge him in after school trips to the cemetery so he could give flowers to the dead. But in her last year of secondary school, her attitude somehow shifted toward him and their secrets became their burdens and Harry was more concerned about helping their mum keep things afloat, more concerned about leaving when she got the chance, more concerned about hiding who she was. John isn’t sure who his sister is anymore or what she’s doing, if she’s even going to school. And it’s not like he’s been waiting on her; he’s called her and left messages, written to her just to keep in touch. But she’s not responding and he’s slowly letting it go. He shrugs and mutters, “I have no clue…”

“Sorry,” Molly murmurs, seeming to know she’s hit a bad note. “I forget sometimes, ya know? Still hold out a bit of hope that maybe she’ll answer or something…”

He shrugs and turns his eyes back to her. “Sometimes, I still hope too. But I haven’t heard from her since May.”

She twists her lips and looks out into the woods where the night has enveloped everything and you can’t see more than shadows upon shadows. “How’s Greg?”

“Angry,” he responds bitterly. They’re talking about all the wrong things. “He’s mad that I’ve been spending time with Sherlock again.” He’s suddenly aware of a slightly warm sensation against his chest and he glances down at where he knows the charm of his necklace is resting. He’s a bit surprised that he hadn’t noticed its warmth when Sherlock had arrived back for the first time in years but he supposes that he’s been so used to it hanging from his neck, warming slightly with his body heat, that something like that wouldn’t trigger a thing -- he wouldn’t think twice about a burn coming from a _necklace_ of all things. This time, though, it’s different. It’s been warm since Sherlock had come back but it burns every time they’re in close proximity. It’s getting warmer, not quite uncomfortable, but enough for him to notice and he’s not sure exactly what to think about that.

“Good,” Molly says and, surprised, he looks up at her. Her face is determined, glowering at him. “You shouldn’t be spending time with that thing. He’s dangerous.”

He rolls his eyes and sits up straighter. “No more dangerous than you, Molly. Stop being so… Not you.”

A soft glow has started to force its way through the gnarled branches above their heads, causing the shadows around them to break apart and objects to glow slightly. John tips his head back, catching the first glimpse of the moon. His heart picks up a beat and stutters but he turns his attention back to Molly, trying to think like her about the whole superstition. “It’s part of me now to dislike things like that. But even more than that, John, as your friend, I hate him. We met after him and you’ve always been...less than you. I’ve seen it. You’re not everything you could be. Suddenly, he’s back and those pieces are fitting into you again and it’s angering. Greg couldn’t fix you. I haven’t fixed you. Somehow, that creature stole part of you and he’s handing it back bit by bit and you’re just falling for it. You could have fixed yourself without him.”

“That’s not true,” John interrupts immediately, attempting not to get angry because he knows that won’t do anything. “I locked everything about him away in here. I haven’t stepped foot in these woods since I was seven years old. I probably never would have if I hadn’t met him again.”

She doesn’t make an attempt to stop her anger. “What if I’d invited you back here one day? You wouldn’t have needed him then!”

“I would have been angrier then!” John shouts; if she’s not going to hold back, then neither is he. “I’m angry now but I know I can talk to him, mend things between us. If I had come back in here without ever seeing him again, I know I’d be angry. That part would just stay here, and…”

“You don’t know that!” She unfolds herself, getting ready to stand. “You had real friends -- Greg and I, the rugby team -- and you could have let us fix you. You could have opened that gate and walked back here and fixed yourself. But you waited and didn’t question anything and the moment you saw his face, you let him back in and that’s a huge mistake!”

John smiles, feeling that it probably looks a bit deranged. “I disagree. Because at least I have the problem within my grasp. And I remember everything I’d shoved in here and whether I want it all back or not, I have it. I don’t need to be fixed, Molly. I’ve never needed to be fixed. I just needed to remember and you know who else knew that? Greg. Greg knew it and he let me forget and encouraged me not to come back in here. So don’t tell me you two could fix me, could help me remember. One of you knew and decided not to say anything, and the other cared about me just the way I was. Or, I thought so. If you didn’t like me without all the pieces, I’m not sure why you stayed.”

“I like you either way,” Molly whispers, staring at him with a furrowed brow. “I’m just angry that you’re letting the person who hurt you come back…”

He shakes his head and stands up. “But he was important and we were kids… What was he supposed to do? Run away? I can’t blame him for things out of his control. Maybe his family told him he couldn’t write to me. Whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter… He was important and now he’s back.”

She doesn’t seem to know what to say to that. For a moment, neither move or speak. Then Molly stands and John glances at the moon again. It’s starting to change colours and it makes him nervous. The charm dangling from the leather around his neck starts to heat up more and he’s not sure that doesn’t make him more nervous. “Stop staring at the moon,” Molly hisses, catching his attention again.

He stares at her as she crosses her arms. But something’s not right. Her form is changing, slightly, yet enough that he can tell. Her jaw is becoming more pronounced and her fingers seem to have lengthened a bit. The colour in her face that normally makes her look so human has faded and she seems so washed out in the off glow of the moonlight. He means to back away but his first step meets the trunk of the tree. “Molly…” he whispers, fear sneaking through the word and causing his voice to waver.

Her eyes flash and the pretty brown drains until the colour looks grey and haunting. “Run,” she growls and he needs no further instruction. He darts around the tree and sprints into the woods as fast as he can go. Roots and branches and rocks threaten to down him but he keeps going because even though he knows she’s his friend, he also knows that she’s _not right now; maybe before, maybe after, but not when she’s like this_. He stumbles but doesn’t stop, not sure where he’s going and only knowing to run.

The warmth on his chest has faded some and he knows he’s going in the wrong direction. If Sherlock had been coming to him, he would have gone to the gate at the front by his driveway, which only means that John must be running from it. He ducks to his left, trying to redirect himself -- if only he can get to the fence, he can figure out where to go. He hears running behind him and glances over his shoulder. Molly is fast on him, crouched over and practically jumping any obstacles in her way, as if she grew out of the woods themselves and is now an extension of them. His heart stutters in fear and he turns his attention ahead of him, trying not to trip. A sudden burn lights up his chest and he hears a roar behind him, followed by a tumble of bodies. He looks behind him again and sees a massive man holding down Molly’s frail frame.

Except the man isn’t exactly a man. He’s half-hunched over, his body covered in fur from head to toe. His ears are pinned back, elongated like an elf’s ears, and his arms seem longer than a normal human’s. His feet are more like a wolf’s, more defined and more massive. He’s crouched over Molly but obviously not trying to hurt her; instead he’s just holding her as she thrashes and claws at his arms and kicks at his back legs. The creature looks up at him, shocking blue eyes staring deep into John’s soul. If he had any doubt as to who it was, it was snatched from him when he saw the green charm dangling from a leather band around his neck.

John pauses, unsure what to do. Part of him knows that the two creatures locked on the ground are dangerous and he should keep running. But there’s another part that’s creeping back up that says, _Those are my friends and they wouldn’t hurt me_. So he hesitates. Sherlock snaps a half-growl at him and Molly kicks one back leg out from under him, gaining the upper hand. She twists and pushes him off her, lunging for his neck as they topple. John tries to cry out, afraid for Sherlock, but no sound comes out and the werewolf holds her face back with one hand, trying to find purchase on the ground to push himself back up.

“John,” a calm voice calls from behind him and he looks back at Greg. The man is shaking slightly, his eyes on the two fighting creatures. “You can’t stay…”

With a quivering voice, John mutters, “I know… But I don’t remember the way out…”

Greg turns his attention back to the blond and he smiles kindly. “That’s what I’m here for. Follow me.” He waits until John is almost beside him before he starts running, and his friend chases after. John wonders at how Greg always seems to know when he needs him, how he’s always there. At the same time, he doesn’t care. He’s so grateful anyway. He follows Greg until they get to the fence and he looks both ways, wondering if he can’t scale it. But the spirit beside him interrupts him impatiently, “John, no. This way. There’s a gate.”

“If we go back too far, they’ll catch on and find me,” John explains, trying not to sound as terrified as he feels. Yes, they are his friends. However, he no longer holds any illusions as to what they are and what they’re capable of.

“I know,” Greg says, reminding him that he’s seen more than even John can remember still. “Just trust me. Your dad added a second gate, the one you asked for.” Curious, John follows him down the treeline, his right arm brushing the fence as they run. It feels like forever and he can hear scuffling in the dark of the woods that makes his heart race and he’s trying to keep up with Greg. “Here.” The man stops abruptly and John almost runs right through him, an experience he’s only had once and doesn’t want to repeat. John looks at the gate. The lock is on his side, at his chest. It’s a simple slide of the pin and door swings open. Gratefully, John sprints out and into his backyard. He glances over his shoulder and sees Greg standing in the frame of the gate, watching him with his arms crossed.

He doesn’t stop running until he’s inside his house, the back door shut and locked. He stares around his house, the cold and empty feeling enclosing him and making him feel trapped. Without his consent, tears are in his eyes and he’s sobbing because what if his friends aren’t okay? What if they hurt each other beyond anything anyone can fix? And why didn’t Greg follow?

He doesn’t know how long he stands there but eventually Greg is standing in front of him, muttering nothings to try and calm him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost over. And all the fluff is saved for the last chapter. 
> 
> To clear things up: When John's mum was talking to him in chapter 4 about the man who took him home, she was referring to the incident after Sherlock vanished and Greg took him home after. The gate that Greg took John to in this chapter, was the "just in case" gate that locked from the inside that John had asked his dad to set up in the last chapter. I hope that helps you catch everything. :)
> 
> Also, to explain my choices with the vampire and werewolf lore... I gave my friend the option of how she wanted the werewolf to be portrayed and she picked one of the first. Originally, vampires and werewolves were lumped under the same "witch" umbrella. Vampires were said to look more human, if not more bloated and red because of all the blood from their victims. Werewolves were a mix of wolves and human, standing on hind legs; they also only changed once a year. They would vanish for days at a time the same time every year. That's why Sherlock went on "vacation" for roughly two weeks every year. And that explains why I wrote Molly and Sherlock the way I did. (Although, I'm not sure about the blood moon thing; I just figured it fit nicely.)
> 
> Hope everyone liked this! It was kind of fun to write and I'm happy to finally have this out! :D 
> 
> Please review if you feel so inclined.


	7. Chapter 7

He’s better when his mum comes home later that night and he listens to her story of the date that went so well. He goes to school after the longest weekend of his life but doesn’t see Molly. The week drags and he doesn’t know how his friends are, though Greg tells him over and over that he had watched them run their separate ways before coming to check on him.

Molly comes back to school on Thursday and they huddle in the library before school. She seems normal again, save that her chocolate eyes are filled with guilt. “John, I am so sorry about last week… I don’t know what happened…” She looks him over and quietly asks, “Are you okay?”

John bites his lip painfully, studying her. Her form is back to normal and the malice is completely gone. “Yeah, I am. Are you?”

She hugs him tightly. “Stop that. You’re not fair,” she mumbles into his shoulder. He’s not quite sure what to say so he simply hugs her back and they sit there quietly until the bell rings and they have to go to class.

XxX

 

On the following Friday, John’s almost home when he sees someone leaning stiffly against the pillar on his porch. His heart literally stutters because, even at the distance, he recognizes the deep chestnut hair and the tall form of Sherlock. He pauses for a moment to breathe and then he calmly walks the rest of the way to his house. As he’s headed up the drive, Sherlock turns around and watches him with his hawk-like eyes. “Hello,” he finally says as John starts up the stairs.

“Where have you been?” John demands, in no mood for niceties. His hands are shaking slightly. He’s been so worried about him.

Sherlock doesn’t even try to smile, simply stands up straight and never takes his eyes off the blond. “I’m sorry. That was the first night. I don’t come back to myself for another thirteen days. If things had gone the way I’d originally intended, I would have told you that…”

“Originally intended?” John frowns and peers up at him, his curiosity putting out the flames of his anger.

A blush creeps up Sherlock’s neck and he looks away for a moment before clearing his throat and chancing a glance back at John. “When you told me about your necklace, I was hopeful that maybe things would be... _better_ between us. You know, er, I was going to ask you on a date… But you had a very different reaction than the one I anticipated and it kind of threw me. I didn’t get a chance to tell you what I was, or how it all worked… It was going to be _planned_ , and you wouldn’t actually have to see me like that…”

John scoffed, blushing and mildly annoyed. “You do realize that, a, that was not the first time I’ve seen you in your wereform. And, b, I really don’t care. That has never been, and probably never will be, why I’ve ever been angry with you. You realize that?”

Sherlock blinks at him, expression puzzled. “What? What do you mean?”

“I _live_ with monsters, Sherlock. I don’t care what you think you are,” John huffs impatiently. “The only reason I’ve ever been upset with you, the only reason I forgot you at all, was because you just _left_. You never wrote or said anything to me. You just vanished… I know you didn’t have too much of a choice; we were kids. But… Never a letter? Why didn’t you? Write, I mean.”

Sherlock doesn’t look too thrilled with this line of questioning, though he also seems a bit too distracted to argue. “I thought you were scared of me. From what I remembered of that night, nothing told me otherwise. My brother wasn’t much help, either. I wrote lots of letters, but never sent them…” He sets his hands on the blond’s shoulders, then runs his hands down John’s arms and intertwines their fingers. “I’ve always wished that that night went differently…”

Blushing deeply now, John pulls his hand out of Sherlock’s and tugs his necklace out from beneath his shirt. He balances the charm on the palm of his hand and looks down at it thoughtfully. “But we’re very different people now than we were as kids… After you left, Greg kind of took over as my friend and guardian and… I’ve grown up. I’m not scared of silly things anymore. And who knows what we would be if you had stayed. Maybe you would never had been brave enough to ask me on that date…” He peeks up at him, smiling slightly. If nothing else, John is very forgiving.

Sherlock’s face colours slightly. “I haven’t officially done that yet…” he protests weakly, but smiles all the same. “Would you say yes if I did?”

“Depends on the date,” John replies, attempting to sound casual. “And on one condition.” He watches his friend tilt his head slightly, curious. He literally reminds him of a dog and that’s not a very fair comparison. “No more lies. We actually have to get to know each other now.”

“I can agree to that,” Sherlock says slowly, looking at the charm in John’s palm to their tangled hands. “John, I…” He tips his head back up so their eyes can meet and John feels their world tilt slightly. “I look forward to the future. Finally.” He gives a sort of smile that the blond returns threefold before he crashes their lips together.

 

**Goodbyes (Six Years Later)**

 

Sherlock leans on the iron gate of the cemetery, watching as John wanders past headstones slowly and uncertainly. He assumes that it’s been quite awhile since his partner has been here as he’s looking at names and mumbling under his breath. He smiles sadly, having dreaded this day for quite awhile. He’s gotten used to Greg’s random appearances and John’s soft seemingly one-sided conversations in the early morning. He’s decided to stay behind and let his friend have his words with as much privacy as the cemetery will allow.

John feels his heartbeat pick up, one hand opening and closing nervously at his side; the other grips a bouquet of daffodils. The air is warm but it seems more suffocating than he imagined it would be. He hasn’t seen Greg yet, but knows he’s around, watching. Just like everyone else still here, coming to see what John was doing back in the graveyard. He’s only visited twice since being dragged to his father’s funeral.

 

He spots the headstone and falters, feeling his entire body tense reflexively. He brings the flowers up to his chest, nose dipping against the petals and inhaling as if hoping that their scent will give him strength. If anything, it makes him weaker. He stands there, staring at the bleak stone.

 

Unlike some of the other gravestones around with newer death dates, Greg’s does not have fresh flowers resting against it. It’s nestled deep into the ground with the grass growing merrily around it, untrimmed recently. The ground itself seems to have settled and the bulge that accompanies many other graves as a subtle symbol of what lies beneath the dirt is not as prominent.

 

Taking a deep breath, John steps forward and stands beside the grave, looking down at the name. As if on cue, Greg appears, standing on the other side of the stone. “Ya know, you could wait another year or two to publish the book…” he suggests weakly, eyes on the fading engraving as well. John snorts softly but says nothing. “I don’t think I’m really ready…”

 

At this, John looks up at his friend. The man who had been watching over him since he was young, never letting loneliness seep too deep or danger creep too close. He sighs, attempting a laugh and failing because tears are threaten to spill over. “Greg, you’ve been my dearest friend for so many long years. I think I’ve begun to feel tired _for_ you. You’ve done so much for me, from making sure I never touched the hot stove to making me laugh when I’d been crying for ages after Harry left… I want you to go. Go rest.”

 

Greg shuffles his feet, eyes slowly looking up to meet the blond’s. Then he turns his gaze to the stones that scatter the plot, the one or two cars that pass through the bi-street. “I’ve been awake for so long, I don’t know if I remember how to sleep,” he whispers distantly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s such a strange thing… When you die, you can _choose_ to stay or go on. And I didn’t know what staying would entail. I was so angry, so curious, so...not ready to leave. Some people have more purpose, you know? Keep a relative safe, watch over a lover until they can reunite. But me? I didn’t know… I just wasn’t ready to be _dead_ yet…” His eyes shift to John’s again, surprised to see his friend crying softly. “Maybe I was just waiting for someone to make me better.”

 

John shakes his head and swipes his free hand across his eyes. “You’re a sap. A huge sap and absolutely ridiculous. I didn’t make you a better person; you must have been good to begin with…”

 

“We all know that’s not true,” Greg remarks sternly, as if reminding himself as well as John.  “Would you do something for me, though? One last thing, if you’re very sure I can’t stick around to keep you safe for another few years? I mean, you _are_ now dating a werewolf…”

 

“Engaged now, in case you forgot,” John replies, wiggling the fingers of his left hand in the air. He smiles as Greg grimaces.  “And I am sure. As much as I wish you could stay for the rest of my life, I wish you peace above all else.”

 

Greg nods uncomfortably, shrugging his shoulders and glancing around as if his nerves are getting the better of him. “Would you find my parents? I don’t know if they’re still alive or not. Chances are, they’re both too stubborn to have died yet but maybe I’ll beat you to it.” He attempts a smile that falls a bit short. “But if they are alive, would you send them a copy of that book? I want them to know what they meant to me… What I did and I’ve been doing. I think it would make them proud to know that I’ve been a sort of guardian angel to someone like you…”

 

John blushes slightly, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “Of course. I’ll find them and make sure the book gets to _someone_ in your family. I promise.” Greg nods distractedly and steps forward, cringing as he stands above his grave. The lack of shadow seems particularly obvious. “Will you rest for me? Go sleep for a few years, Greg, okay?”

 

“I’ll do my best, John,” Greg mutters, reaching out to rest one translucent hand against his friend’s cheek. “I wish you the best of luck in life, John. I mean that. Think of _you_ more often. And be smart. I swear, I will come back to haunt the shit out of you if you break even a _toe_. Do you hear me?” John laughs at that through his tears and nods weakly. “Good. I’ll be watching.”

 

“And waiting with baited breath to return to scold me for that scrape on my knee, I’m sure,” John chuckles, rubbing at his eyes. “God, I’ll miss you.” Greg opens his mouth with a slightly hopeful glint to his eyes and John shakes his head. “No. Don’t start again. I’m not going to let this be harder than it already is. I’m afraid that if you ask again, I’ll cave. Please, let me give you the peace you deserve.”

 

Greg runs a hand through his hair and gazes over John’s head for a moment before nodding absentmindedly.  “Okay, yeah. I’ll rest… I’m going… I don’t know what will happen when I close my eyes, John, but…” He looks back at his friend with a hint of fear in his eyes. “But I won’t forget you. No matter what happens or where I go.” He gives him his best lopsided smile and then sits on the ground, crossing his legs. “Will you remember?”

 

John sits on the grass beside him and smiles softly. “How could I forget the most important man in my life?”

 

“Don’t you have Sherlock for that?” Greg asks skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Yes, but you were first,” John tells him, setting the flowers beside the stone. Greg glances back at them and then at the blond and the reluctant acceptance in his eyes absolutely heartbreaking. “Go to sleep, Greg. And have wonderful dreams, yeah?”

 

Greg closes his eyes and leans back with a slow nod. “Yeah… Dreams…”

 

John watches his friend fade into the ground, his form disappearing with no warning. There is no light to take him away; no other spirit comes to fetch him. There's nothing like the movies portray. He's simply there one moment and gone the next, never to return in that form again. John stares at the spot where he’d seen his friend’s face last for a very long time. Eventually, Sherlock wanders over and rests both hands on his shoulders. “John?” he mumbles, the deep baritone of his voice waking him from his stupor. Blinking back to reality is hard and he feels himself shaking with silent, dry sobs. They stay for awhile longer, until Sherlock coaxes John to his feet and guides him away. It's a happy parting, for the most part. John knows his friend can sleep and finally have the peace that had been deprived of him for so long. But he already misses him. The constant that has been in his life for so long.

 

When they get home, Sherlock makes them food and convinces his partner to eat a little before they retire for the night. As days go on, he finds that the blond begins to come to himself more, seeming to accept that he’s done something good rather than something that would harm their future. Instead, he forcefully turns his attention to their upcoming wedding.

 

Molly arrives a few days before the wedding and the three of them visit Greg’s grave one last time. Both she and Sherlock are relieved at the jokes John makes during and after their visit, keeping things light. He's determined to ensure that his friend’s happiness does not leave his own lacking.

 

It would be another six wonderful years-- full of happiness, arguments, surprises, and love -- before John and Sherlock would consider the adoption of a baby boy with the cool brown eyes so similar to Gregory Lestrade’s.

  
~Fin~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it ends. (Sorry it's so short! D:) I hope that you all enjoyed this last installment as much as you enjoyed the story itself. I originally had a lot more planned for this chapter but since I never wrote any of it down, all I could remember was snippets here and there. I did my best and I hope it was fluffy enough for Keroanne. (Even though it took a century longer than I anticipated. DX) I'm kind of gonna miss this one...
> 
> Thank-you for all your support and love and kindness. I hope this wasn't a disappointment. I appreciate everyone who followed this (even secretly) and all the comments and kudos I received from you. I can't thank you enough. 
> 
> Please leave thoughts behind if you're so inclined. :)

**Author's Note:**

> So, I really don't know why Greg is dead... I wasn't sure about even adding him to the story until he literally just walked into John's room. I kind of sat there after writing the section out and wondered why. But then he became too much fun to write. And then too important to get rid of. -.- 
> 
> Hope that you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! :D Please leave reviews, if inclined~


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